by Lily Velden
He swiveled us both in unison, like we were synchronized swimmers, forty-five degrees, and as my gaze took in the sight of two men having sex, he slipped his sheathed cock between my clamped thighs. My balls tightened as the tip of his dick nudged against them after brushing over my perineum. I whimpered in fear, jerking away from him.
“Shh, sweetcheeks,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I won’t fuck you unless you ask me to. Just watch the floor show and let me take care of you.”
I shivered, staring through the steam at the copulating men. It was so erotic. Like a dream. So raw and primal. One man rested on his knees on the slatted bench of the lower tier on a pillow made of his folded towel. The other knelt behind him in a similar fashion, holding his willing captive to him with one arm over the shoulder. His forearm ran diagonally across the guy’s chest and his fingers splayed over the opposite pec possessively, while his other hand snaked around the young man’s waist to grasp his jutting cock.
Same as my cock was being gripped by my conqueror. I was no different than the man before me—willing prey. My shaft slid… his shaft slid. We were experiencing the same thing—an unfamiliar hand… a stranger’s hand… gripping, holding, squeezing, moving…. Was his heart pounding too? Was the blood roaring in his ears? And pleasure coursing through his veins? Was his skin on fire too? Yes. His moans told me yes.
The hands and dicks of the men before me worked in unison, creating a mesmerizing rhythm. The man being plowed dropped his head back to rest on his vanquisher’s shoulder, reaching back with both hands to grip his thighs, urging him to work harder in plundering him. And me? I mirrored him, reaching back to grab my stranger’s ass, tentatively beginning to rock my hips. One shudder after another coursed through me at the feel of my seducer’s cock brushing back and forth over my perineum and underside of my balls.
“You like what you’re seeing, sunshine?” whispered my seducer. He laughed softly, his breath gusting hotly over the damp shell of my ear. “No need to answer. I can feel that you do.”
It was just as well he’d answered for me, as I was incapable of answering for myself. All my senses were being assaulted—the feel of his cock sliding back and forth between my closed thighs, his hand on my engorged penis, the feel of the towels… it was too much to take in. His skin, so slick from the steam, his breath on my neck, the smell of his body, of sex, and God help me, the sight and sound of the fucking going on not eight feet in front of me. It overwhelmed me.
“So what’s the problem, handsome? Finding it hard to let go of your hetero sensibilities?”
I quivered, too overcome to answer.
“Sunshine, when it comes to men, it’s not about the heart. No, definitely not about the heart. It’s about another place, a much, much lower place. A place right about… here,” he softly crooned in my ear, squeezing the head of my dick with one hand while he palmed and rolled my balls with the other. I locked my knees to keep myself upright and leaned back against him—the feel of his hand, his unfamiliar hand—on my steam- and precum-slickened cock was so much better than anything I’d ever experienced.
“It’s about cock and a sweet little hole. It’s about friction. It’s about your balls drawing tight to your body and shooting your load. It’s all about the here and now, about getting off. We’re not like women. Sex means a whole lot of things to most women. Things like love and babies. Like commitment and a future. Try and stick your cock in their pussy, and most will want to know if you’ll love and respect them in the morning.” He laughed quietly. “Even the ones that tell you they just want to have a good time.”
His words made me turn my cheek toward his mouth, hypnotized. I wasn’t sure I entirely agreed, but I was incapable of arguing with him.
“See those two putting on such a good show for us?”
He didn’t wait for my answer.
“Any minute now they’re both going to come. And do you know what they’ll do once they have?”
I shook my head weakly, continuing to work my hips in time with the rhythmic fisting of my length.
“They’ll go have a shower, maybe relax in the pool, and recover, and then they’ll go cruising for another fuck or blow job. They’ll even settle for a hand job. ’Cause that’s what men do. It’s the way Mother Nature programmed men. All they’re interested in is their next ejaculation. They want to spill their seed. They want to come. A man with a woman makes a commitment… because that’s what the woman wants, and her honeypot will clamp shut tighter than a bear trap without it. Men with other men, on the other hand? They fuck. They don’t need a bunch of pretty words. They don’t need a cuddle and a diamond ring that comes with a promise of a tomorrow. All they need is to get their rocks off. The only creation they want to make from a fuck is one of mutual pleasure. And it is pleasurable, sweetcheeks. In fact, it’s ecstasy. You’ll come harder than you ever have before in your life. That is one promise I can make you.”
His low voice was so persuasive, it all sounded so logical to my aching balls and throbbing cock.
“So let go of your silly notions. Forget about your heart. It’s about cock. It’s about something nice, hot, wet, and slick surrounding your oh so hard dick. It’s about someone who knows what your dick needs. It’s about coming as hard and often as you can. And you want to, don’t you, sunshine? You want to shoot your wad right now, don’t you?”
I nodded. It was all I could manage as I watched the rutting of the men before me escalate in time with the tightening coil in my scrotum. My pants and groans matched theirs.
“Tell me. Say it. Tell me how much you want me to make you come.”
“Please,” I gasped. “Please finish me off. Make me come.”
No sooner had I uttered my plea than he gave one final, firm tug of my dick, brushing his fingertip over my slit while gently squeezing and pulling down my ball sac, and I was creaming all over his hand. He caught most of it. At least, I hoped he did.
A groaning gasp fluttered through the damp ends of my hair, gusting over my ear, and I knew he’d also climaxed. He chuckled softly, recovering the ability for speech quicker than me.
“I should have put a condom on you, blondie, but I didn’t want to spoil our, ah, moment. Follow me—let’s get ourselves cleaned up.”
Numbly, like a zombie, I trailed after him into the shower area. Taking one look at my stupefied expression, he turned on the flow of water and checked the temperature before gently shoving me beneath its spray.
Sanity slowly slid into my mind, like the stream of water over my body, polluting the afterglow of my climax with its relentless heterosexual indoctrination. What had I just done?
PRESSING MY face into the pillow, I groaned. I’d been tossing and turning for hours, stewing. I couldn’t believe the way I’d freaked out at the baths earlier. I’d behaved like a juvenile idiot. Like an affronted Victorian virgin. If it were possible to be a more farcical cliché, I couldn’t think of it.
I’d raced to my locker and dressed, having not even properly dried myself. I couldn’t remember turning off the shower or what I’d done with my towel. The journey home was a blur as well.
The only thing which was clear was my seducer’s words: “You’ll be back, blondie. Trust me. You’ll be back. That itch you’ve got isn’t going to go away.”
I’d turned to look at him over my shoulder as I’d dashed for the door, intending to deny his damning words, but the expression on his face had made my reply die in my throat. He hadn’t looked as I’d expected—laughing at me, all-knowing and smirking.
He’d looked… kind.
LOOKING AROUND the room, I asked myself again how I’d gotten here. How had I ended up at a gay nightclub? Was it because it seemed less daunting than the bathhouse I’d visited a couple of weeks before? More acceptable somehow?
Another sweep of the room and suddenly the bathhouse looked far more appealing. At least there the dress code was pretty self-explanatory. I blinked, adjusting my collar a little
nervously. I felt overdressed in my shirt, tie, suit jacket, and jeans. Most of my fellow revelers were either wearing supertight tees or were completely shirtless. My appearance made me stand out like a peacock among pigeons. So much for my idea of blending in and quietly observing.
Taking a deep breath, I crossed the backlit floor to the bar and waited to be served. It was tended by two bartenders, one of whom I couldn’t help staring at. It wasn’t so much because of his looks—tall and toned, with skin like milk coffee and big brown eyes made even more startling by the fact that he didn’t have the distraction of a thick head of hair. It was because he looked exotic. He was barechested and wore matching beaded bands around his biceps and throat. The bands drew attention to his arms, and I couldn’t help watching as he worked, fascinated by the way the muscles in his arms flexed and relaxed with every drink he poured. He was both graceful and competent. Out of the corner of my eye, I was relieved to notice I wasn’t the only one watching him.
“What’ll it be, darlin’?” he asked rather loudly in order to be heard over the thump thump of the music.
I wanted a Booker’s bourbon, but a quick glance at the array of bottles on display told me they didn’t stock it, and I needed something stronger than cider.
“Double of scotch, please.”
“Blend or single malt?”
“Um… single malt.”
“You starting a tab, beautiful, or paying as you go?” he asked, placing the tumbler of scotch on a coaster and pushing it toward me.
“Ah, I’ll pay, thanks.”
I passed him a few notes, jolting when he caressed my thumb as he accepted them. He chuckled at my reaction, and winked. I flushed, turning my head to hide my embarrassment. Yet again, I’d been spotted as a newbie. I was beginning to think I was walking around accompanied by a pair of dancing girls waving placards, declaring my “newbie” status. They might be invisible to me, but they sure as hell could be seen by everyone else, or so it seemed.
I remained at the bar, undecided as to what to do next. The crush on and around the dance floor looked daunting, as did the smaller groups lounging in the seating areas. Another glance at the exotic bartender, and I decided remaining by the bar was the lesser of evils.
“So where are you from, gorgeous?” he asked a few minutes later while serving the guy who had sidled up beside me. “It’s Ty, by the way. Or if I’ve been naughty, Tyrone.”
“You must get called Tyrone a lot then,” I joked a little awkwardly.
“You’ve been speaking to my mother, I see.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
His question sparked a conversation of sorts, a conversation regularly interrupted by his job. With each exchange that passed between us, I relaxed a little more, aided, no doubt by my second scotch. He was a little flirtatious. I liked it. I didn’t want to fend him off the way I’d gotten into the habit of doing when a woman approached me.
While Ty was busy at the other end of the bar, I watched the couples on the dance floor, wondering if I’d ever be able to dance with such abandon, such overt sexuality. Would I ever be that comfortable in my own skin? I hoped so.
Lost in my thoughts, I only vaguely registered a man coming to stand beside me. The first thing that broke through my reverie was his scent—he smelled good. Expensive. I turned, only to find him already looking at me. He was conventionally handsome and older than I expected, the gray at his temples suggesting he was in his late forties or early fifties. That he was confident was immediately obvious—he wore it like a second skin. And with his first words I was hit by his charm. My stomach fluttered nervously.
I was being hit on. Really hit on.
He smiled at me and it felt like a seduction.
My first reaction was to flee, a little voice in my head telling me I wasn’t ready for this. But if that was the case, why had I decided to come to a club such as this in the first place? Was I going to run again like a frightened rabbit like I had from the bathhouse?
“Hi. I’m Gerard.”
I steeled myself and returned his smile. “Noah.”
He took a half step closer, and another waft of his cologne curled up my nose as he started talking to me. His questions weren’t sexual in the least, and yet his tone made them seem like pillow talk. With each one it felt as if he were removing an item of my clothing.
He reached between us, his movement slow and deliberate, his gaze intent, watching for my reaction. My stomach muscles quivered involuntarily when he made contact with my belly, pressing lightly with just one finger before trekking slowly up the center of my torso.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, leaning in and licking by my ear.
I shivered.
Was this what I wanted?
Was he what I wanted?
Before I could decide, Ty closed his hand around mine where I still gripped the tumbler of scotch.
It broke the spell.
I turned to look at him. Surprisingly, he winked and blew me a kiss.
“Drink up, lover. I’ve finished my shift, and I want to get out of here.”
He was looking at me, so it had to be toward me he’d directed his statement. But why? We’d chatted, and he’d flirted a bit, but nothing this blatant. Before I could ask, he grinned at Gerard. “Thanks for warming my man up for me.”
I looked from one to the other, confused. My would-be seducer looked none too pleased, which only seemed to make Ty’s smile widen. I didn’t understand the power play going on between them. They continued to stare each other down—it was as if I wasn’t there. The moment dragged uncomfortably on. Each time I opened my mouth to say something, I ended up closing it again. I didn’t know what to say.
The difference in their attitude became increasingly obvious. While the glint in Ty’s eye showed amusement, Gerard’s thinned lips and tense jaw spoke of anger.
I sensed they had a history. Whatever was going on between them, I decided I didn’t want to be a part of it. I threw back the last of my scotch, hissing at the burn, before turning and walking away, mumbling my farewell.
“Wait up, lover,” Ty called after me.
I ignored him—I wasn’t looking for trouble.
A warm hand slipped into mine, its grip soft but firm. It was Ty. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed Gerard was still propping up the bar, glaring at our backs.
“What was that all about?” I asked as soon as we exited the club. I dropped Ty’s hand. The night air was cool and welcome after the heat of the club. I sucked in a deep breath appreciatively.
“Tell me, are you into pain?”
“Pain? What do you mean?” I asked, getting annoyed. “Quit talking in fucking riddles and just answer my question.”
“I’m trying to. Are you into pain? Do you like things clamped to your nipples? Your cock trapped in some contraption so you can’t come? Someone taking a flogger to your arse and balls?”
My balls tightened, trying to crawl back into my body at the mere thought of them or my cock being clamped or flogged.
“If you are, you can walk straight back in, and Gerard will take care of your needs. But if you’re not, then I just saved you a whole lot of grief.”
“I’d never have agreed to any of that,” I whispered, taken aback.
“Sweetheart, he’d have gotten you so high and drunk you’d have found yourself begging him to do that and probably a whole lot more. Very persuasive is our Gerard. Quite the seducer. Old Silver Tongue, I call him. He makes it all sound sexy and fun.”
“No way.” I shook my head emphatically.
“Maybe not, but you wouldn’t be the first bloke who said ‘no way’ that Gerard managed to convert into a pain-loving slut.”
“Well, not me.” I shook my head again. “If he’s converted so many, why the hell was he trying to pick me up?”
Ty laughed. “Did I forget to mention that Old Silver Tongue likes variety? Likes to keep a veritable stable of men.”
“How do you know so much ab
out him?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
“When I was young and gullible and new to London, I was one of those men he seduced.” He chuckled. “Not one of his converts, though.”
“How does he get away with it? Why doesn’t anyone report him?”
Ty shrugged. “He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t get you to agree to. Like I said, he’s very persuasive.”
“You agreed to him clamping things to your balls?” I could scarcely comprehend any man wanting something like that. I wasn’t naïve. I knew there were plenty of men, and women for that matter, out there who practiced BDSM, but I had to admit I didn’t understand the need or desire to combine pain with pleasure.
Ty shrugged again. “At eighteen I was a walking hard-on. He told me he’d make me come longer and harder than I ever had before.” He chuckled softly and shook his head as he remembered his younger self. “That statement alone guaranteed I’d go along with whatever he planned.”
I nodded. It seemed my bathhouse stranger was proving correct about men and their ejaculations.
“Gerard generally picks up young guys or straight boys dabbling on the dark side, like you.” Ty paused, smiling and waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Probably not to your workmates or neighbors, but to a gay man cruising the clubs, yeah, it is.”
“I just can’t seem to stop thinking about it,” I whispered, looking down at my feet.
“Yeah, I figured as much. Want a word of advice?”
I looked up and nodded.
“Go find yourself some nice shy gay guy to experiment with. Meet him in a bookshop or café, or the bleeding veggie section of the supermarket. Have some fun with vanilla before you go try the more exotic, um, kinkier flavors.”
I laughed. “Let me guess: you’re a more, ah, exotic flavor?”
“Sure am, sweetheart, but once you’re, ah, broken in, come see me, and I’ll show you a good time.”